


Blessings reckoned

by AtrosM



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Gods, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-13
Updated: 2012-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:45:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtrosM/pseuds/AtrosM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an alternative London ruled by two divine brothers, John Watson, a recently discharged army cleric, finds his life in the bright capital city dull and bleak. That is, till he finds himself slipping towards the city´s dark side and discovering a new underworld full of creatures and a mysterious flatmate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Temple

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by the wonderful anubit.  
> Many thanks for all the help.

_"Her will shall banish the shadows. Her might shall punish the lawless. Her beauty shall restore the light."_

_Anonymous, on the High Priestess of Mycroft_

 

John walked through the light during all his early childhood, even while growing up in London he did not notice the other side until late in his youth. Nobody would blame him for this lack of perception, for the greatness of the capital city of the empire is dazzling indeed. And if his mother made sure to distract him and his sister during certain parts of the cars rides, or carefully picked which roads they would take on their travels, well, that was hardly his fault either.

This is how he found himself at age ten with his whole family at the steps of the grand temple, gazing around in wonder while keeping a hand closed on the spitfire most knew as his six-year-old sister.

 

-John, Harriet, keep close: there is a lot of people here and you could get lost.

 

-Its _**Harry**_ , mom

 

Their mother nodded absently in reply, already worrying about managing the offerings her children would leave on the altar. Because even if the Watsons paid their church taxes dutifully every month,  it always looked well to give when visiting the temple, especially during your children's first visit.

They had to wait a good while to be allowed to pass through the gilded gates, surrounded by the thousands of supplicants who entered it each day. And then they saw it, and what a sight it was: full of light that poured from the glass windows and high ceilings, the columns so wide that you would need ten men to cover their circumference. And behind the altar were the angels keeping guard over the sacred effigies and the high priestess whose distant smile shone over the congregation.

 

-John, John, look at her. She is so pretty.

 

 Harry's eyes were full of adoration for the dark haired woman on the tower, but John personally thought that her smile disquieted him. The angels on the other hand, oh the angels in refulgent armour keeping guard over all them, that did impress John a lot.

 

-Look dears, look over there.

 

Their mother herded them towards an alcove to the side where a woman in white and golden robes prayed with her hand over a sickly-looking small child held by his mother. John's breath almost stopped while color returned to the kid's body. Leukemia, their mother would tell them later; because clerics healed what even modern medicine was incapable of, including magical afflictions. That moment would define John's life forever because it would be then that he decided to be both a cleric and a doctor; he kept that resolution secret in his heart for the moment until it was time to reveal it.

They stayed in the temple the whole day until the high priestess sang the night prayers and retired, the signal for the temple doors to be closed for the night. It was there, again at the temple stairs while their mother covered a sleepy Harry for the travel home, that John saw the other temple, strait across the main square. It was not golden and red, nor was it big; it was fairly small, in the purest white rock with blue banners fluttering in the wind.

 

-What's that?’

He asked his father, who looked uncomfortable and fidgety on his feet.

 

-That … is not important, do not worry about it. Come, it's late and we have to get your mother and sister home soon.’

 

But John kept looking at the small building at the edge of the square, while his father went to fetch their car and mother soothed a tired and moody Harry to sleep. The Temple was empty, that much was obvious; no people on the stairs and everybody gave it a wide berth, even in the cluttered centre of London, averting their eyes from it. Then John saw the man, it was far away but the dark coat he was wearing offered a stark contrast against the white stone. John saw the man and he could swear that the man saw him.

 

-Come on John dear, do not linger.

 

His father was back with the car.

 

-Yes mum, coming.

 

And the man was gone.

 

John would, late at night, ponder over the incident but would soon forget it in favor of his dreams of golden armour and healing hands. And that was how good John Watson, who prayed to Mycroft every night and never strayed from the light, met Sherlock for the first time in his life. Little did he know it would hardly be the last time.


	2. The rookie and the student

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still not sure how quick the chapters will come out, so I am just letting it flow.  
> Notes at the bottom are the standar disclaimer for the whole work.

_"Healing is a gift the divine ones have shared with us. It is a sacred trust."_

  _Motto of the University of London Medical and Clerical School_

John´s divine calling revelation was not the big event he had hoped it would be, coming out in the wake of what would be the eventual destruction of his family, because 13 year old Harry had just declared herself gay in the worst possible way and making it as difficult possible for everybody. Her rows with their father could be listened for several streets around, enough for the police to come knocking more than once, mother cried in the kitchen avoiding reality as much as she could; latter he would find father was having an affair with one of her friends during the same time. And John, John just wanted to go away, entering the University was just the final excuse he needed to do it.

He moved to a small place with one of his high school friends who had the same career plans then proceeded to read the whole rules handbook to find out if being a cleric meant he had to remain celibate, he thought that could be a deal breaker kind of thing. To his utter joy it did not and so he went to earn the famous nickname of three continents Watson which he found highly unfair.

-I have not even been out of England Mike

According to Mike it was theirs nationality´s what gave the score.

It was among the walls of the university were John also learned the meaning of the white and blue building. This truth was given to him in Theology class by an unusually nervous presenter who spoke to them of Sherlock. Sherlock, which most dogmatic schools acknowledged as being Mycroft’s brother, in some representations even twins. The dark to his brother light, chaos to order, willful and unpredictable, ruler of the dark, prayed to only by those who lived on the bowels of the city with altars on tunnels, back alleys, sewers, dilapidated houses or in the shadows among the traffic lines. Only there was Sherlock rule, away from where most people walked, away from the light.

After the lesson John tough he understood why his father was so unwilling to talk about it, after all who wanted their children close to such a place, why was the place even allowed on the first place? He supposed it was only a token effort to appease an apparently unappeasable god.  John vowed to forget about the whole issue but under his new duties and studies he found himself more and more in need to attend the main temple and every time he left it his eyes would be drawn to the white structure right in front of it.

One day he decided it was too much and gathering his courage he marched right into it and entered, it was empty, in more ways than one, no people and only a white limestone altar of the same material that the building, oddly enough he had expected cold distant marble, not this earthy material. Behind the altar in a rough blue engraving it could be read "To Know Is To Rule."  An expression very distant from the "Every question has a proper answer. Every soul has a proper place" that greeted the followers above the doors to Mycroft’s temple. It was not only that, oh no, but the temple was truly empty, unlike Mycroft’s temple were you could feel the power and warmth weight on you, here no presence could be felt at all, all the dark power and unholy whispers he had been waiting were utterly absent.

-Hey you. Not thinking about causing any trouble here bud.

John almost jumped from the voice on the otherwise silent building, he turned around waiting all kinds of horrors just to find an obviously rookie cop looking at him with an intimidating (or at least it appeared to try to be that) scowl on his face.

-Hu, ermmm

-What happened mate, Sherlock got your tongue?

 The young man laughed at his own joke, while John looked at him with a horror filled face.

-Don’t say that, what if he listens to you?

\- Awww mate, relax, he is almost never here, much less during the day, and if he were he would not care. Come on sit down, you are looking somewhat wobbly over there.

The young man helped him reach one wall and they just sat on the floor.

-Hu, is this ok?

-Yeah no problem we do it all the time. Name is Greg mate.

-John, I am John. We…?

-Yeah, we the cops, we do rounds around here to keep tabs of anybody thinking themselves brave enough to sabotage a temple. Some clubs and posh gangs even make it a rite of passage, tough usually they just dare among them to enter. They also tend to find it a bit anticlimactic and can get nasty with the building. You are one of those aren’t you?

-Yeah, no bet tough. I just had to see for myself, see if it was true…

-Mmmm?

\- I do not know, I was expecting something out of a horror novel, blood, sacrificial altar, you know.

The other gave him a nasty chuckle, his gaze looked somewhat offended.

-I did not know cops cared about….he

-Ha, yes, big nasty Sherlock only the lowest ones follow him right? But we pray to him to you know, we have an altar on the precinct, I even have a small one on my own flat, creeps the girlfriend out to.

-Why?

Greg gave him a shoulder shrug.

-Why do you think? How else could we enter on the shadows to hunt the robbers, the killers, the ones that delight in suffering or the others? Some days, the last thing that we have to worry about is the humans. And yes, they pray to him to, but at the least they have the same possibilities than we about being listened.  Social workers pray to him to, pretty much anybody that have to enter the shadow does. Mycroft cannot reach you there, no golden sigil will work, and it’s only you, your wits, Sherlock and them.

-Sounds lovely

-I know right? That was why I joined.

The smile he received was quite rakish, and wasn’t it the most charming thing he had ever seen? but no, no, the man had obviously mentioned a girlfriend, and he was three continents Watson and most certainly not Harry.

-Well mate, I have to go to do my rounds, you can stay since you don’t seem to cause troubles.

-I have seen what I wanted; I shall take my leave to.

-Whatever suits you, see ya around

Standing on the entrance white steps and seeing the young man back leave, he had to call out.

-Wait, wait

Greg turned around a raised eyebrow in questioning.

-They say….they say he doesn’t take offerings, that no matter what you put on the altar your prays won’t be answered, but you say cops pray to him.

Now the smile was a devil smile without doubt, and god if that didn’t make him even more attractive

-Yes?

-So, what you give him?

-Secrets mate, we give him secrets.

Later John would stand in Mycroft temple, looking at the high priestess that didn’t look a day older since six year old Harry Watson gave her adoring glances and he would wonder about protection and “dark” gods and he would, for the first time doubt.

 

_"For each word spoken, one forgotten. For each thought, a memory rotten" The previous incantation it’s one of the few remaining vestiges of the long forgotten scriptures of Sherlock, it was found engraved on an obviously purposely destroyed piece of a column during an archeological excavation in…_

_Extract from the book “Dark remains, a study on primitive cultures and Sherlock adoration” by Howard Carter_


	3. The Sting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still unbetaed, corrections welcomed.

_"I do not heal. Healing means that the pain has already been felt. To stop suffering, one must prevent the world's wounds altogether."_

_Old battle cleric saying_

The little spark of a doubt didn’t last long, drowned by the golden light of the temple and what he was learning on the university, after finishing he signed for an internship healing supplicants on those same alcoves that had defined him more than a decade past. No need to mention that his mother was so very proud of him, he would tell her he barely did anything but between his father fulminating heart attack triggered by their divorce proceedings and Harry already on her downward spiral toward the bottle he could hardly blame her for grasping at the straws of what their family had been. 

John in exchange found the temple life dull, the immutable smile of the high priestess more disturbing each day and even the angels obviously unused armor lost shine with time. This is why when the old colonies declared holy war on the Taliban for serious affronts both real and imagined and the Holy British army answered their call for help; John was one of the first ones to enlist.  On the training his knowledge acquired a new edge, now he could deal with bullet wounds, shattered limbs and souls; he learned to shot and how to use his hands that healed to kill.

At the beginning Afghanistan was as dull as the temple, kept inside one of the many military bases, he dealt more with tropical diseases than bullet wounds. But eventually he was deemed fit for active combat and moved to an outpost on the desert close to an old mountain village.  There among the rocks and sand he killed for the first time and learned to fear for his life, learned that he could love without sex or even romantic feelings and that he could see those people die in his arms and that he could leave them behind and keep fighting covered by their blood and heartbreak.

 But he meets a wandering woman on a white camel who claimed to be a princess and that, in the night of her tent, naked, weaved tales about a city of brass lost in the sands of time full with wonders that no living man would ever see, about apples and girls found murdered in chests and about her sister who exchanged both tales and immortality for love. She would not linger long and disappeared one day with the morning leaving him with nothing but sand and memories.

He did spent a full week in complete silence while being followed by a djinn who whispered in his ears about all the things he could have, power, woman’s as many gold as he could want if he would just whisper a wish. But he didn’t and if he wept in silence during the night it was just his to know, his and the slated red eyes that promised the world and more for the highest of prices.

The scorpions would not come till much later, thankfully he had a good amount of experience with stressful situations by then, the old John Watson would had passed away on spot. They got ambushed during a patrol, which wasn’t so uncommon but this time they brought the beasts with them, and from then on John´s nightmares would be filled with the clattering sound of their feet’s on the rock, of red eyes on black and of the green dripping miasma that could eat trough any metal. He survived the encounter by hiding between two rocks and praying as he had never prayed on his life while ignoring both the strangled screams and the tears on his face. The logistic department would eventually develop arms for this new threat but not before John and his squadron had to kill quite a few with a couple of rocks and a sharpened logs. The terrain around their camp turned into a proverbial minefield they had yet another element to feed their paranoid minds.

It could be faulted to the fact he had spent too much time on the field, that he had grown cocky or comfortable in the familiar terrain. Once you spend so much time under pressure you invariably get accustomed to that pressure, some would say you even need it, but for all his adrenaline addiction the only thing he could think when the scorpion fell in front of him from the outcrop was:

-“Please, let me live”

Not even he was sure whom he prayed to, since he gave no name or title on it, but someone did listen because he did live and his team brought it down on sheer firepower, but not before the stinger entered the flesh liquating flesh, muscle and bone leaving a gaping hole mere inches away from his heart and the green poison infecting his veins. And so John Watson laid on the ground in Afghanistan blood pouring from his eyes and mouth while people shouted all around him and only could think.

-“ _Please, let me live_ ”

And in the darkness behind his eyelid´s someone or something answered “ _I will_ ”

_He remembers a past of light and healing. But he lives the bitter present—parching salt, scouring wind, and the withering heat of the desert._

_Memories of Afghanistan, a collection of tales by John Hamish Watson, date of publication unknown._


	4. The Pooka and the Ginger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the process of getting Beta´s when the chapters are fixed ill update the notes to say so. In the meantime apologies.

_"Be happy when you see a puca shaped like mischief. It's far better than one shaped like death."_

_Popular folklore_

John did not know how much time he laid delirious, time and pain meshing into a single entity, on his briefs moments of lucidity he only saw a white ceiling and medics and clerics come and go all around him grim faced. When he dreamed he did it in green and red with a gunshot musical background.

They would tell him later it had been a week, such a humble timeframe for the eternity he felt. His shoulder ended as a quivering bundle of recently growth muscle and bone that sometimes seemed to pulse green, it made him sick. It was the best they could do they said, it would get better with time they said, he could not remain in service they said.  So that is how John Watson found himself honorably discharged, with a pension, obligatory therapy sessions, a magic wound on his shoulder, psychosomatic limp and an intermittent tremor on his left hand.

He didn’t even tried to live with his mother or Harry which marriage to a, suspiciously black haired beauty, was going down the drain, he would safely bet it was not Clara’s fault tough.  And so, that’s how he ended in one of the temple standard lodgings, small and bleak, cream walls, cream floor, cream bed and cream dressed John Watson just sitting around or having nightmares.  They provided him with a small job in a clinic and a cleric healing permit medallion. His new job healing coughs was close enough to the dormitories that he could limp there and Ella tough it would do him good. But she also tough having a blog would do him good and it only worked to remind him how….. nothing ever happened in his life.

John took the habit of going to the clinic by a different path each day, it served the double purpose of terrain recog… knowing the neighbor and the variation of the scenery slightly entertained his walks. On one such walks he found himself on the edge of what appeared to be the entry arches of an abandoned industrial complex, each arch giving step into the darkness like a gaping mouth

Who knows why John noticed the apparently young man in a hoodie, maybe it was because he was completely covered, maybe it was that he kept his head up unlikely most passersby’s who looked at the ground, away from the arch’s or maybe it was because John had awakened this morning from a particularly bad nightmare and he was halfway there in Afghanistan. What did happen is that the when the guy snatched the old lady purse and dodged into the shadows John grabbed his cane and ran after him, pointedly ignoring the shout of “Don’t” that the woman gave him.

John felt his year´s weight heavily on him after he was quickly outran on the long halls, pieces of debris and machinery laid around which he had to avoid while the other jumped over them. He finally lost him on a crossroads panting heavily and cursing his own stupidity, and now he was going to be late he tough while catching his breath on the floor.

Latter he would wonder if fate intervened in some way because as he sat there wondering how he could know what path to take to return he heard a noise from an entryway.  Quietly as a mouse he approached it to peek; the guy was hunched over growling and digging on the purse and carelessly dropping things on the ground.  Before the guy could run away again he jumped on him and the proceeded to wrestle for a few moments on the ground for the possession of the purse.  Then the hood fell down and piercing white eyes meet his, they backed down carefully circling each other while John carefully cataloged his opponent. White shinning eyes, totally round, animal ears and was that a tail poking free of his clothes, the thing gave him a toothy grin full of sharp canines, charming. It looked about to jump him to, so it would be a matter of whom was quicker, now the question here was did he risked the time it would get him to get his gun out or risk using his illegal and untested black market battle sigil. Whatever he was going to do he had to do it quick because…

-Gladstone, Gladstone, were are you, you left auntie alone again, bad boy.

The thing, ¿dog? Stopped and laying back on his legs began to ¿wave his tail? to the shadow coming toward them.

-Oh what did you found dear?

It was a girl; a redhead girl dressed in more cloth layers that a human should be able to carry around and a ridiculous hat with feathers, lace and ¿bones? She seemed more interested in the purse than he and promptly picked it up and the things it had spilled while leaving the heavy looking supermarket car she had dragged in with her by John. It was filled with quilts, so bizarre looking jars, bead charms mixed with bird bones and wasn’t that…

-Is that a body?

-Oh, hi there deary, sorry for…oh look makeup.

She brandished a lipstick as if it were the best thing on the world; here he was, lost, with a crazy girl, her ¿dog? and a body in a supermarket cart, the laugh that escaped him was anything but sane.

-That didn’t sound good deary, come on tell auntie Molly your problems.

And wasn’t she precious, he could almost be her father and here she was consoling him….with a body in a cart, he feel to the ground with another hysteric chuckle, and laid with his head between the knees, for once refusing to look at the world. He half expected them to leave but soon felt a cold nose in his neck and a hand stroking his hair tenderly, and who would know unnatural beings and crazy girls could transmit so much sympathy trough their faces.

-There there deary, you just need a good tea cuppa and a chat with auntie, I know just the place.

She showed him a crumpled bill and winked, most likely from the purse, and he really should not, but wasn’t this the most alive he had felt in weeks?  So he soon found himself walking on old brickwork tunnels most likely an old sewage on route to an unknown location to drink tea.

-We found it this morning, by the river, well Gladstone found him I just followed.

-Found?

-The body, he looked asleep, I knew him, he was nice.

-I am sorry

She shrugged.

-Everybody dies, it happens.

-Are you taking him to be buried?

-Buried?

She looked quite alarmed.

-Oh no no, what a waste that would be, no, I am taking it to…a friend, he needs it.  Oh look we are here.

He didn’t had time to ponder the kind of friends she had or why they needed body’s because they had arrived at what looked like an old train station currently filled with small stands and floating lamps. John never had suspected the city had so many non-humans living on it but if this place was anything to go by he was very, very wrong. 

-Molly dear, word on the street says you have makeup.

-Word on the street surely runs quick Annis

How word on the street ran here was a mystery because they had not meet anybody on their walk here, but good lord did the woman in front of them need makeup, and a beauty salon, make that plastic surgery altogether 

-I have body parts for you Molly we could exchange

-There are plenty of body parts round here Annis, not so much makeup.

He ignored their bickering in favor of gazing around the market, witches selling potions, from the black dressed wart on face with green bottles in the shape of a skull to new age ones and their very fashionable crystal charms. A boggart with a moving stand took the chance of him waiting for Molly to try and sell him all kinds of frog related goods from rotting ones in jars, to eyes and even a milkshake and he had to pretend interest in the weapon stand of a minotaur for it to go away. In the end he ended buying a better sigil from the minotaur and some magic bullets, they did accept money on here, which was good because he did not have anything to exchange. He also walked away with a contact card(really?) and a name, it turned out he actually was a greek immigrant. Molly had come back by that point with a new sack and a smile.

-I see you are mingling deary good, good; look what Annis gave me, it’s curious, most curious not anything I had ever seen before.

She pulled some limbs from the sack, and John had to admit she was perturbingly right, they were in raw muscle in some parts and in others they were covered in a material that resembled porcelain, it was not just covering it, oh no, it actually grew from the muscle as if someone had managed to replace their flesh with it.

-That’s…mmm.. very interesting Molly, better keep it on the sack.

-I know right? My friend will love them, he loves mysteries, you will like him.

-I am sure molly but I cannot stay I have to leave soon.

She hummed as if she really wasn’t listening to him, he sighed

-Come along deary, let’s grab that cuppa of tea, they make a very good one here.

She guided him to a big stand on the corner managed by the biggest troll lady he had seen in his life, who laid back on a big bunch of colorful cushions managed the whole thing in front of her with big teapots and thousands of mismatched teacups and dishes hanging from the ceiling or cluttering all around her along with boxes and boxes of ingredients on the walls. The bill Molly had found, he refused to think about it otherwise, got them two cups and a plate of biscuits and they sat to eat on nearby benches someone had assembled with recycled pieces of tile and glass.

-Were has your dog gone?

-Oh Gladstone? He most likely found something interesting to chase.

She frowned in apparently deep tough.

-He it’s not a dog, he it’s a pooka, my friend found him on a travel to Ireland, farmers had killed his parents, you could say he it’s just a baby.

-That’s awful, just awful.

-I am pretty sure the farmers were not without reason; pooka’s aren’t the most good-natured sort.

-Still…

Gladstone choose that same moment to come back a frog in his mouth and a shouting boggart behind, John ended paying for the, in his mind, much overpriced dead amphibian. Once they had run of tea and biscuits, John thought of how to go back to the surface but Molly choose that moment to stood up like a spring.

-Oh dear, silly Molly, silly, forgot she had to take the body, he won’t be happy, no, he won’t. John has to help auntie Molly, or ill be later help yes?

Apparently her speech lost leaps when she was distressed, and when John had ever been able to resist a distressed woman? So he found himself yet again on the tunnels dragging the cart after a hurried mane of red hairs that lead the way.

-Here, this is our home….

John looked were she pointed, it was an out of service tunnel entrance full with patchwork covers and the same patterns of beads/ feathers and bones hanging from the ceiling, which was painted black and filled with star stickers, they were the same kind Harry used to put on her notebook on primary school.

-…and there its were we have to go.

It was a manhole, charming, so he had to drag a man´s body out of a manhole god know were, they ended tying it up with some string and he would pull from above while Gladstone helped pushing the body. They were in a back alley obviously, he could even see the main streets, and he recognized the building, it was St Barts, luckily nobody ever looked into to this places on the city if they didn’t had to.

-I don’t think we can just enter here with a body Molly

-Oh deary do not worry, auntie has everything covered. Now where it is….haha here

To his surprise she pulled a handful of keys in a chain from her multiple folds of clothes, and opened a service door to the basement.

-Even on the middle of the light there must be shadows deary.

And with a wink she was in dragging him and the body he was lifting along, into what looked to be an old cadaver deposits, but there were modern slabs and tables with research material. It was brickwork and chilly, very 18 century, not modern at all.

-I never knew this place existed

He murmured softly but apparently the door noise had alerted the “friend” because hurried steps sounded behind a couple of archers ahead of them.

-Molly? About time, I hope that body isn’t in rigor mortis you know they aren’t useful to me if they are, got distracted again didn’t you, with your trinkets and idiotic makeup. And who?...Oh.

_The parchment page, given all the indications, saved from a book on fire, represents a young naked woman of glistening white skin and blood red hair that dances on the hair above a circle of bones, eyes closed and smiling over a night background filled with stars . It reads_

_“The night, her stage_

_the bones, her coin_

_the stars, supplicants “_

_It’s been speculated that the girl would be the high priestess of Sherlock, but most schools reject such a person ever existed as no faithful record has been kept of her existence. Others believe its a metaphor of the funeral pyres that used to be lighted on the nights to guide the deceased spirits into the underworld. As to why the painting importance to be saved from the bonfire it has been lost in time._

_Extract from “Forbidden words, Sherlock idolatry during the Witchcraft Act of 1542” by Margaret Alice Murray_


	5. Baker’s hollow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not betaed when the chapters are fixed ill update the notes to say so. In the meantime apologies.

_"Three heads, six arms, and some armor grafts are better than . . . the normal numbers of those things." Famous last words of an unnamed necromancer, its actual existence it’s believed to be a myth and more of a cautionary tale._

_From the handbook, “Medicine and magic: Ethic and common sense” from the_ _Oxford University Press_ __

 

Molly´s friend turned to be a lanky fellow with mane of messy brown curls and the sharpest cheekbones he had seen in his life all hidden under a very big black coat and blue scarf. Not at all what he had been expecting, but to be honest by then he hadn’t been expecting anything short of a zombie, with the corpses and all, tough he could still be a vampire. The man gave a soft chuckle and a shake of his head.

-This is what you found that made you late Molly? Fine then, I get it. Come on corpse over there, I don’t have all day.

John bristled and Molly preened over the man apparent approval of her “finding” him, not only that but already giving him orders, who did the man tough he was.  Regardless he draped the body over the slab the man had motioned to while he saw him fetch….a crop?

-What the…?

-Please doctor; don’t look so appalled, I am measuring the size of bruises on a dead body on different time frames.

-Oh, that’s..hu, wait, how did you?

-Do you have a phone? I need to send a text and mine doesn’t have signal here.

Molly bent over the slab and cutting what was left of the clothes, murmured.

-Or you could use the land line

-You know I prefer to text Molly and if you didn’t exchange for useless trinkets all the ones I manage to acquire for you then…

-All right, all right, here have it.

He extended the one Harry had gifted him to keep in touch while he observed him glare at the girl who was doing an extraordinary effort to keep looking busy.

-Thanks

-Ermm..how did you know I…?

-What, that you are a doctor? The same way I know you are also an army cleric returned from Afghanistan or Iraq recently, have a drunken brother and a psychosomatic limp, I wonder if you even remember were you forgot your cane.

John blinked twice, looked at a smiling Molly over the slab then registered that indeed he had no idea where his cane had been left in the whole crazy day.

-So?

-Hu sorry, so what?

-Afghanistan or Iraq?

-Oh, Afghanistan, but how did you?

-So I was right, good, then, now, this body is not going to stay fresh forever, Molly, step aside you don’t want to get hit by one of these.

And that’s how a very out of his depth John Watson observed a body receive the beating of a lifetime, he was suddenly very glad that the poor fellow was already dead.

  1. Meanwhile I shall take…mmm



The man turned to look at him, apparently waiting

-Oh yes, how rude of me, John Watson, pleased to meet you.

He extended his hand but, it was ignored like the windwhirl of a man went around picking things, the crop, a small case with lab tubes, a head on a jar, John stopped looking at that point.

-Right, I’ll take John to see the flat.

Wait a second

-Flat, what flat?

-Oh don’t come and tell me you aren’t looking for a flat mate, the only reason you still stay on the temple sanctioned building it’s because you cannot afford another place.

-Oh, god, how?

John was tired of being surprised by that point, didn’t the man stop talking ever? or moving for that matter, he was already at the door smiling.

-I don’t even know your name and…

-Don’t be dull John, you are having a lot of fun, you even lost your cane, and don’t you want to find out how I figured all those things, let’s go.

And John could had perfectly rounded Bart´s and gone back to civilization without more than an interesting anecdote to tell but he went down the manhole and into the tunnels again trying to keep up with the man long strides.

-Are you planning to give me a name soon, or being the mysterious sort appeals to your interest that much?

-It does, but really doctor you as a magic practitioner should know that true names hold a power over their owners like few things do, I don’t go around giving such a thing easily.

-So what, do I call you “hey” or “you”

He shrugged.

-People call me of multiple ways, freak, the detective; Mrs. Hudson calls me “dear”

The detective, that explained things, but freak…

\- Mrs. Hudson?

-Our landlady

He had to smile to that, no matter how high handed it was.

-Very sure of yourself aren’t you?

-Of course I am……ah we are almost there.

-There being were?

-Baker´s Hollow it’s called

They had been walking the tunnels and meeting with an increased amount of traffic down there, including street sellers.

-Oh, god, not that boggart again.

 -Hu?

-At the market, Gladstone stole a frog from it, had to pay it by the way, so you owe me a pound, it’s your pooka after all.

Now THAT was a nice smile.

-I’ll keep it in mind John but its most likely not the same boggart, they all look the alike to us, and they all try to sell you frog related goods, speaking of which how did you ended following Molly around?

-Well, you see…

He related what had happened to the point where they meet under the interested stare of the man, while they kept walking over the now crowed path.

-So you just ran after an unknown being into the shadows, John I don’t know if you are very brave or very stupid but you are without doubt very interesting.

Yet, another instance were John had no idea if to feel offended or flattered so he choose not to dwell on it.

-And here we are.

They took a turn out of the main tunnels to enter a bigger one, of what was obviously the equivalent of a residential street down here; it had more of the floating red lanterns, fluorescent flowers planted on holes of the ground close to the quaint round doors on the sides of the tunnel and right at the center a bakery witch tables and chairs spilled over the place, it all smelled like recently baked bread and sugar.

-Oh this is very pretty, these aren’t Hobbit homes right? 

-Don’t be silly John everybody knows they just live in New Zealand. But it is one of the best places down here so close to the center; it’s only a couple of streets away from the temple square and below a big bakery, that is where the materials for this one come from.

He was going to pretend that meant they bought them from said bakery, and followed…

-You still haven’t given me something g to call you; I refuse to call you a freak, the detective seems to formal and dear…well….

That won him another smile.

-Molly calls me Lock; you can use that one if you wish.

-Lock

He tested it on his tongue, it didn’t sound bad.

-A little childlike, sounds like a little kid nickname.

-Indeed, Molly took a liking to it when she was a baby and it stuck.

-Oh, you know her for that long?

-Yes, you could say I know Molly since always.

-Well, that explains the bickering, something of a big brother aren’t you?

Lock gave him the most revolted look as if what he had said was a moral atrocity.

-Oh no, big brothers, no, never, do not speak to me of such things ever again.

Now he descended into a majestic pout while ringing the little bell, in a door with a 221 in small letters over the peephole. Mrs. Hudson as it turned out, was a mouse, a giant mouse, well she barely reached Lock´s waist and even John had to bend down to hug her so not that big, but still a giant mouse, in a pink granny dress.  Mrs. Hudson house was small but very pretty and well took care of, she gave them tea in her living room sitting on a miniature couch and surrendered by embroidery and porcelain figurines.

-The flat it’s upstairs, are you going to show it to your friend dear?

-Yes, right away, common John.

-Thanks for the tea Mrs. Hudson

-Don’t get accustomed to it dear, not your housekeeper

As they went up the stairs, Lock snorted.

-She always says that, never keeps the resolution

-So you are living here already?

-Yes I have been for a while, but help to pay it it’s always good, she its very accommodating but she its old and alone and needs the money.

Lock obviously had a soft spot for the little lady, and wasn’t the flat small? It was all made in warm dark brown wood over the rock base it was digged on and composed of a two adjoined rooms with a bathroom, the first one was the kitchen, which was already filled with lab equipment and jars of unidentifiable things that John didn’t want to know. The second one was bigger had a fireplace against one wall and shelves full of books, herb jars and drawers covering every single wall space remaining except the window, what was against said window was what gave John pause.

-That’s a bed

-Yes?

-ONE bed Lock

-So? It’s a very big bed.

That was true, it was at the least a king size and was covered in more patchwork quilts and fur blankets, it looked very warm.

-You don’t mind?

-Why should I? it gets very cold down here, you get accustomed to huddle with other people for heat.

Lock had disposed of his coat and shoes and dived right into the bed, which was compressible wince it was about the only place to sit down with the possible exception of the kitchen chairs.

-You still have not persuaded me to remain here you know.  And it’s that a horned skull above the fireplace.

-Oh yes it’s an old friend…well you know. How do you feel about the violin? Because I play it all the time when I think. 

\- I would love to hear you play the violin; I haven’t said I was staying tough.

-Didn’t you want me to tell you how I did that at Bart´s?

That did caught John’s attention and removing his own coat and shoes he went to sit on the bed giving all the possible attention at the man spread over it.

-Yes. How did you know? Are you a telepath?

-Hurgg a telepath, how dull would that be, no I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. You have a cleric amulet on your neck, just the top can be seen but they are very distinctive and the comment as you entered the room, not something someone just superficially familiar with a building would say - said trained at Bart's, so army cleric. Obvious. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists - you've been abroad but not sunbathing, you also have a guns weight on your jacket and two hidden sigils on the other side. You didn’t had a limp back there but one of your shoes have a very distinct wear and you moved your hand as if you were accustomed to have a cane around, yet you still have your tan so no wound that required the constant and heavy use of a cane would had healed enough by now so a psychosomatic limp. That suggests the original circumstances of the injury were probably traumatic - wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan - Afghanistan or Iraq.

-You mentioned the temple lodgings.

-You are a cleric and a doctor, a doctor with cheap clothes that have too much wear and a drunken brother; of course you would be on the temple lodgings, and who wouldn’t want to get out of there.  Then there's your brother. Your phone - it's expensive, email enabled, MP3 player. But you're living on the temple´s lodgings and with cheap clothes; you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then. Scratches - not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. The next bit's easy, you know it already.

\- The engraving?

-Harry Watson - clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father - this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara - who's Clara? Three kisses says romantic attachment. Expensive phone says wife, not girlfriend. Must've given it to him recently - this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble, then - six months on, and already he's giving it away? If she'd left him, he would've kept it. People do, sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it - he left her. He gave the phone to you, that says he wants you to stay in touch. You have money troubles and you are not going to your brother for help? That says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife, maybe you don't like his drinking.

-How can you possibly know about the drinking?

 

\- Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection - tiny little scuff marks around the edge. Every night he goes to plug it in and charge but his hands are shaky. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone, never see a drunk's without them. Now are you staying or not?

\- That was amazing. 

Lock smiled as if he had been expecting that reaction

-You think so?

\- Of course it was. It was extraordinary. It was quite extraordinary.

\- That's not what people normally say.

\- What do people normally say?

\- "Piss off"

John smiled fondly at him, and relaxed further into the bed, they were almost touching by now, and he could see through the window right above the bed the constant movement in the tunnel and the flowers someone, most likely Mrs. Hudson, cultivated in multiple pots over the edge. Lock did not look like the kind that would take care of flowers so he most likely would need to take charge of watering them, and wasn’t he already doing plans.

-But then I knew you weren’t normal people, normal people don’t run after thieves into the shadows nor help homeless redheads with bones on her hair drag a body halfway through the city tunnels. 

Apparently he had already made his choice quite early this morning; it had just took till now to come to terms with it, time to start teasing his new flat mate.

-You had something wrong tough.

Lock frowned, obviously not happy with that.

-I did?

\- Harry is short for Harriet.

-Harry it’s your sister, Sister.

He gave another pout and twisted himself on his belly while hugging a pillow, and how did the man manage to turn into such a boneless state.

-It’s always something, I always miss something.

-There, there.

Feeling particularly daring he rubbed the small of his back over the clothes.

-To be fair it’s a pretty small mistake on an impressive string of rights, I would say it's also a pretty understandable one with the name and all, Harry always delighted herself in being a tomboy, she would even be flattered.

-Oh John I can already see you are going to do wonders for my ego. 

And he would most likely be, as if the man´s ego wasn’t obviously already big enough, they stayed on the bed in silence halfway there to cuddling, while John just observed the street and all his new interesting characters.

-You know with Mrs. Hudson and this place I feel in a Beatrix Potter book, I keep expecting for Peter Rabbit to appear coming out the bakery.

Lock hummed contently.

-She lived down here.

-Don’t lie to me.

-I am not, well not down here, like in here. But yes on this side of the things, she lived in a small community that it’s above ground hidden behind an old milk packing factory, they specialize in cultivating herbs and flowers that need sunlight, they dry, package or grind and bottle them, afterwards they get sold down here.  It’s quite quaint like one of her storybooks.

Yes John could quite get used to be here.

-Dear?

Mrs. Hudson, was on the door and he could ear heavy steps right behind her on the stairs.

-That nice policeman it’s here to see you again.

-Lestrade, stop lingering and come upstairs.

Lock yelled without even raising from the bed, and the man in question entered behind Mrs. Hudson, and wasn’t the world a small place indeed, if John didn’t believe in fate before he would start now, because on the door was “Greg” 20 years older and still looking quite dashing but not a rookie at all.  

 

_The true names of birds are songs woven into their souls._

_  
  
_


	6. The map

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness, my laptop keyboard died, and it seems it’s dead without a fix, so now I have to deal with a USB one on top of it.  
> Anyway I am very ashamed for taking so long in posting this one.  
> On a lighter news chapter 1, it’s now betaed by anubit and it’s edited.  
> Many thanks.

_Embrace the wraith  
—Old expression meaning "abandon hope"_

 

-We need help

Those are the firsts words the man speaks once he fully enters the room, the barely there glance he gives John seems to mean he doesn’t remember him, all the better, the John rookie cop Greg Lestrade meet doesn’t exists anymore and it would be awkward to try to bring him up again.  Lock do gives John an intrigued look, does anything goes by unnoticed by him?, but seems to file it for later  and returns his attention to the newcomer with a sneer.

-Obviously or you wouldn’t be here. Tell me Lestrade between my help and HIS, does your department actually solve anything by themselves?

No question about who´s help Lock speaks off, but John cannot avoid a little laugh at the rising color of the man angry face.  He seems about to shout back but Lock fives no time for it.

-So it’s this about the deaths in the paper?

-Yes, you see..

-Dull, obviously a wraith, you shouldn’t have to ask me, really Lestrade…

The man raises a hand to stop the interminable flood of words.

-As I was saying, yes we know it’s a wraith but forensics..

A snort on Locks part and another glare from Lestrade, John feels as the uninvited spectator to an old wits match.

-..Forensics, not Anderson, have found that they were already practically dead when the, ..errm sucking, happened, and hear this, it was poison, recently and freely ingested lethal poison.

This seemed to catch Lock attention because he rose expectantly from his lazy pose, and began pacing around, not that there was much floor for that.

-Why, why would it do that? You can kill them just by touching them, so why? Oh, oh, you are playing aren’t you?

With a flourish Lock threw himself at Lestrade gripping him by the shoulders.

-Tell me you have a crime scene.

The man face should had said something because Lock huffed very annoyed and returned to his previous place in the bed.

-We do have the three bodies still in…

\- Three wraith striped corpses in a city morgue after autopsy, yes I can tell how useful would that be, call me when you have a crime scene.

-We don’t know….

-What, that it will kill again? Of course it will, the fun it’s just starting why would he stop now?

 -Do you really expect me to...?

-YES, or do something and catch it by yourself meanwhile but don’t annoy me till you have something. 

Lock then proceeded to give them his back and pointedly ignore the man who just stood there with an expression more resigned than angry before leaving with a whispered “Good day” and a head gesture.  Lock apparently could not resist a parting shot because he yelled at the retreating man.

-And tell Sally that she should stop banging zombies you can never know what things you can find down “there”

Which did not mean much for John but obviously it did for Lestrade because he shouted back from the stairs.

-I won’t, tell her yourself; at least I get to watch the beating.

Only after the front door banged shut did John returned his attention to the sulking detective.

-Are you really going to wait till you can have a crime scene?

-Of course, wraiths barely leave anything on the bodies and those fools already contaminated and cleaned both the crime scenes and the victim’s clothes, I am not going to find anything on them.

-So instead of trying you are going to wait till someone else gets killed.

-Yes?

How could the man be so bright and so dense at the same time?

-A person, Lock, you are practically convicting a person to death, someone with fam..

-Oh John don’t be so dull, it’s this the cleric or the doctor speaking? Some intrinsic necessity to save those that you could not in the battlefield?

That hurt like a physical blow to the face, and apparently Lock had felt it to because he rose after John.

-Wait…

-I have to get out.

He put his shoes and coat on while a flustered Lock hovered around him obviously not knowing what to do or say to make things magically better. 

-Out, were? John?

-Just out.

He went down the stairs with the firm resolution of never coming back when…

-Don’t go away John…….. please.

Lock was standing on the steps looking pretty miserable for someone who had only meet him a few hours ago. Couldn’t he just apologize, he did know how to, right? And what was with the man that pulled him to it like an industrial level magnet? John had no answers for any of this but he knew that he didn’t want to go on without seeing the man or his crazy world again, so he just gave a resigned sigh and steeled himself to defeat.

-I won’t go “away” Lock, but I do need to fetch things from my flat, and to let know in my work that I was not mauled to death after rushing unknowingly into the tunnels. Speaking of which, I am going to need some way to guide myself to go out and come back.

-I have something, wait there John, just, don’t go.

A lot of crashing and cases being opened and closed preceded Lock reappearance on the stairs with a bunch of papers in hand.

-Here, I did it myself

He seemed very proud of it, and he should, the superposing semi transparent papers had the grid of the city, the tube, and the underground tunnels with all the significant places and entryways marked both above and below.

-This is very nice Lock, very nice indeed, are you sure you don’t mind giving it to me?

The man made a dismissing gesture.

-I have a digital version, and a Google earth layer, would you want that instead?

-No no, this is perfectly ok, all fine.

No need to mention his technologic incapacity to the man.

-Well I should be going, thanks for the map.

-Come back John

-I will, I will, look I promise.

Lock face was suddenly very close to his, for an insane moment John tough the man would kiss him.

-I will hold you to that word John Watson.

Lord, that sounded serious.

-O..ok, ermm see you later.

He slipped away trough the door still under Lock watchful stare wondering what had just happened. Maybe it was because he was still speculating about this but it took John more than ten minutes of walk to notice he was being followed, like a gnawing feeling on the back of his neck that refused to go away, yet nobody in sight, no steps on the pavement but the feeling would not go away so he accelerated his pace, anxious to get out the tunnels and into the safety of the overpopulated London main streets. He should had been suspicious when the denizens of the dark had began to disappear from the road, apparently they were more tuned out to “dangerdangerdanger” than he was,  which made his internal military man wince in pain. Whatever was following him must had perceived his distress because the vague sensation had turned into dark tendrils of power like shadowy hands that curled around the edges of his mind.

-“Don’t panic, don’t panic”

And there, finally a leader and a manhole, just a few steps more and he was rushing up all the while frantically looking behind his back into the empty and silent tunnels. Then the grate refused to open and that’s when John Watson realized he wasn’t being followed, he was the prey in a hunt game.  With a curse he went down and keep walking, he could always try to return to Baker’s Hollow but dragging whatever was following him toward Lock and Mr.’s Hudson was not an option, specially not with the power he was feeling, cold and unrelenting, weighting on him like a landslide. What else was there for him to do? He could keep walking and try to reach civilization trough one open exit which gave his hunter the advantage of choosing when to strike or he could force its hand and fight with all his worth, because John refused to go down without a fight, no matter against whom. Once he decided this, a strange kind of serenity settled on him, the same he had grown accustomed in Afghanistan, of a man ready to die. He gave a sharp turn and the choice was made for him, because he hit a dead end and at the mouth of the tunnel darkness was curling around the edges like a living thing, a shadow approaching. For an idle second he wondered if it was Lestrade´s wraith and if he would end being the crime scene Lock wanted, but no, no spirit could held this amount of power.  He got hold of his sigil and waited till he could make a shape, any shape and then let go

_Accendunt ligatis in tenebris_

_Accendunt protegat fideles_

_Accendunt esse gladius_

_Accendunt esse clypeus_

 

The chain of runes curled in the air for a second before turning into light tendrils and throwing itself at the darkness with a blinding flash of light, there was another subsequent light explosion when it collisioned with it  that left John grasping to see what it had happened.

-Bravo Dr. Watson, bravo, that was a very powerful spell, truly a praiseworthy effort.

John blinked, once, twice, and even closed his eyes for a while, but the very sharply dressed man didn’t disappear like the darkness had. No he remained there smiling in his dark honey Savile Row suit and cream vest very much unharmed in anyway and twirling around a matching …..brolly?

 

_“He was as peace should be—gentle yet unstoppable” Extract from the book “Thus Spoke Zarathustra” by  Friedrich Nietzsche on a story were the wise man meets Mycroft on the guise of a monk under a fig tree, it’s still unclear if it was meant as a theoretical  exercise or if Nietzsche was claiming having meet the god incarnated himself._ __

**Author's Note:**

> To avoid possible misunderstandings the “scriptures” or any religious dogma in the fic will be modifications of magic the gathering phrases or extracts from Dune (Frank Herbert) religious practices. Taking two entirely fictional resources as inspiration, this world or religion isn’t supposed to represent reality beyond the obvious and any likeness is coincidental.  
> The work is in answer to a Sherlock kink meme pront that grabbed my attention  
> http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/9100.html?thread=44602508#t44602508


End file.
